Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara by Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale, Astrid Amara, Nicole Kimberling Page B

least, appeared to be a jealous master vampire disciplining his concubine.
    As a matter of course, they’d ordered a search of Azalea Point Creamery and the Sounder residence. The homicide team was there now, going over the joint with spectrometers and witches. At last report, Sounder and his remaining concubine were both cooperative, but then he didn’t have much choice but to be cooperative while the sun shone.
    Gunther drove while Keith leafed through the paper. Among the usual local political rants, cult cartoons, and ads for escort services, he found the food column.
    “This is interesting,” he said.
    “What?”
    “This food critic is talking about the Bauer & Bullock closure. He’s missing the cookies.”
    “I can see why. They’re great cookies,” Gunther remarked. “Rake’s going to be brokenhearted when he learns he’s had his last box.”
    Keith continued to leaf through the paper, looking for live music listings. Carnivore Circus had a Friday show booked at a club called The Greenhouse. He found no listings for Theater of Blood. Was it because they’d gone underground or because they were just a bad band who nobody wanted playing their club? Hard to say.  
    As Keith could have predicted, when at last they sat in an interrogation room with Lancelot, they found him not terrified that he would be arrested and tried for cannibalism. Instead, he wanted to know whether or not he would be out of jail in time to make it to his gig on Friday night. Gunther glanced to the legal advocate. She was some sort of faerie with long pink hair and longer legs. She shrugged and shook her head slightly. Gunther turned his attention back to Lancelot.
    To Keith’s surprise, Gunther’s amicable cool evaporated. He let loose a long string of growling goblin syllables that, from Lancelot’s reaction, were seriously profane.
    “If you could stick to English, I’d appreciate it, Heartman,” Keith remarked.
    “Lancelot,” Gunther snapped. “Disappointing your band mates is the least of your problems right now.”
    “I know, I just can’t think about it. I don’t know what to do.” Lancelot hung his head in misery. “My legal advocate says I don’t have to talk to you, but I didn’t do anything. I don’t know anything. I don’t know what to do.”
    “Why isn’t your family here with you?” Gunther shot back.
    Keith thought it an odd question for Gunther to ask, but then, he supposed he’d underestimated the filial connectedness of goblins.
    “My parents are dead,” Lancelot replied. “They were in a boat accident last year. I don’t have anyone else.” Lancelot’s hands shook.
    Much as he valued aggressive questioning, Keith didn’t think badgering Lancelot would yield much profitable information. The kid—and he was clearly a kid, Keith could see that now—was visibly retreating into himself. He said, “Would you like a cigarette?”
    “I sure would.” Lancelot raised his eyes fractionally.
    Keith signaled to Gunther who grudgingly placed his own pack of Luckys on the table. Lancelot took one and chewed the end nervously. He looked up to Gunther and said, “I know you’re disappointed in me, but I didn’t do anything.”
    The rest of the interrogation revealed nothing of value. No one could provide Lancelot with an alibi for the time of the murder. He had been at home, alone.
    They left Lancelot in the interrogation cell and headed back downtown.
    Gunther wanted to walk along the river, so Keith parked and soon they walked shoulder to shoulder along the greenbelt, the Willamette River on one side, the skyscrapers of downtown on the other. Gunther chewed three cigarettes, one after another in silence, before finally saying, “The latest victim of the Cannibal Killer was dumped directly in Lancelot’s backyard. There has to be a goblin connection. Only another trans-goblin would know about Lancelot’s status.”
    “But the question is, is the connection to Lancelot or to Carnivore